


Got Me Lyin' (for your love)

by Kangofu_CB



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Canon Disabled Character, Craigslist, Deaf Clint Barton, First Meetings, Gift Fic, M/M, Meet the Family, Meet-Cute, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 19:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: Clint advertises himself as a ‘semi-acceptable to totally inappropriate boyfriend for all your family holiday, family dinner, corporate Christmas party, and other fake-dating needs’.  It's surprisingly lucrative, especially around Thanksgiving and Christmas, and he is always very clear with his ‘dates’ exactly what he is and isn't willing to do, and anything physical beyond some hand-holding or maybe a light peck on the mouth is completely off the table.So when Natasha asks him for a favor - to help out one of her friends with his own special brand of help, Clint readily agrees.But James 'Bucky' Barnes isnothinglike Clint's other clients.





	Got Me Lyin' (for your love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angrydollface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angrydollface/gifts).



> Many happy birthday wishes to AngryDollFace who is always a lovely reviewer and supporter of my work and who HAPPENED to mention her birthday was coming up, and well, I thought I could do something nice <3 Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> This was originally titled "Craig's List Clint" in my docs and I stand by that.

Clint was willing to admit he was hiding - honest to god  _ hiding _ \- in the bathroom.  He’d been in there a good ten minutes, and he was skirting the line between his hosts assuming he was just a very fastidious hand-washer versus them thinking he was taking a massive dump, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

He should wash his hands. That would at least explain some of the time he was spending in the tiny half bath that was decorated circa 1952.

 

Except the soap dispenser-

 

Well, he wasn’t certain it was soap.  It was weirdly… layered? In various shades of green that did  _ not _ look natural, and in fact looked like the soap had grown sentience and had a civil war inside the bottle, and divided themselves into layers ranging from eyeball searing neon to milky greenish-yellow that sort of, vaguely, reminded Clint of pus.

 

Which, ew.

 

He definitely wasn’t using the soap.

 

The label looked like something he vaguely recalled from Bath and Body Works when he was in high school, something all the girls had carried around in one of those weird candy-wrapper purses that had been so popular.  Clint almost picked it up to examine the label more closely, before thinking better of it.

 

He turned the water on to further support his cover story.  He could at least  _ rinse _ his hands.

 

Then he caught sight of the towel, which was coated in a thick layer of dust where it was folded over the rack and changed his mind.

 

Instead, he texted Natasha.

 

_ SOS, get me outta here!!!! _

 

**_Where are you?_ **

 

_ Ozone Park. _

 

**_Why the fuck are you in *Queens*?_ **

 

Clint paused before responding.  It wasn’t like he was ashamed, it was just that-

 

**_Are you doing that thing again this year?_ **

 

It was just that he didn’t particularly want to answer that question.  Because Clint was, in fact, doing the thing again this year. The thing he did every year around the holidays, usually from mid-November until Valentine’s day, the thing that earned him enough extra cash to put into savings to help carry his expenses in the off-season, when his archery classes were on break.  

 

_ What thing? _  He sent back, chewing on the inside of his cheek.  He could really only spend so much time in this bathroom.

 

**_That thing where you pimp yourself out on Craigslist as a mediocre date for cash._ **

 

_ Oh. That thing.  Yeah, I’m doing that thing. _

 

She didn’t respond, and Clint blew a harsh breath out through his nose.

 

_ Nat.  Natasha.  My friend, my buddy, my sister from another mister.  Please save me from myself. Natasha they eat like *wolves*.  Like actual, open-mouthed, no breathing while you eat, no table manners wolves.  Natasha I’m afraid to eat the food. I have eaten pizza from an actual dumpster and I’m afraid to eat.  I’m drinking out of my own water bottle. The milk is separated. It’s in a JAR.  _

 

There was another long pause and then-

 

**_You owe me a favor.  A big one. Text me the address._ **

 

Two minutes later, Clint ambled out of the bathroom, wiping his barely-damp hands on his jeans and pasting on his best sorrowful expression.  Todd - Clint was fairly sure the guy’s name was Todd - was giving him a hopeful-yet-terrified look that made Clint feel instantly bad about what he was about to do. 

 

But he was genuinely afraid he was going to contract e. Coli.  

 

“I’m so sorry,” Clint began, and Todd’s face fell.  “But I have a family emergency my, uh, my sister fell and is headed to the ER.  I’m her emergency contact.”

 

Todd lept from the sofa as though he’d been electrocuted.  “Oh my gosh, how awful. I’ll give you a ride!”

 

“No!” Clint said, too loudly.  “No, that’s- that’s fine I have- I can get a friend to come get me it’s no big deal.”

 

Todd’s mother chose that moment to metaphorically elbow her way into the conversation.  “Yes, Todd, dear, let your  _ friend _ find his own ride home.  We always have family game night after dinner - you couldn’t possibly miss it!”

 

And that, coupled with the vaguely homophobic comments over dinner and the cool way she’d greeted him, was just enough to set Clint off.  He reached into his pocket and texted Natasha again.

 

_ Nevermind, found a ride.  _

 

**_You still owe me one._ **

 

_ Noted. _

 

He tucked it away again.  “Actually,” he said, turning to Todd, whose smile now looked like a rictus, “if you could give me a ride that would be great, it’ll save me the money for a Lyft, and who knows how much the hospital bill is gonna be.”

 

Todd nodded, already moving to grab both his and Clint’s jackets from the coat rack near the front door, pausing only to ghost a kiss over his mother’s cheek and ruffle his little brother’s hair.  Once they were in the car, Todd gave a sigh of such immense relief, Clint almost reached over to pat him consolingly. 

 

“Okay,” Todd sad, turning the ignition, “I’m willing to pay you extra for that little acting job.”

 

“Wait, what?” Clint said, dumbfounded.  “I was going to offer you your money back!”

 

Todd laughed.  “No, no that was perfect.  I showed up for dinner with my ‘boyfriend’, nearly gave my mother an aneurysm, you stuck it out for three hours,  _ and _ you got me out of there before my father fell into a drunken argument with  _ everyone _ over Monopoly.  This was easily the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever spent with my family.  How does an extra fifty bucks sound?”

 

“Uh, fine?” Clint said, hesitantly.

 

“No, you’re right, let’s make it a hundred bucks and I can use you as an excuse not to show up for my aunt’s birthday in February - I’ll say we can’t make it because you’re busy with your ‘sister’.”  He actually made little air quotes around the word, which, fair, because Clint had told the guy he didn’t have any family when Todd had messaged him on Craigslist to ask if his ad was serious. 

 

“Deal,” Clint laughed.

 

*

 

A week later, Natasha called to collect on her favor.

 

Or, in actuality, Natasha called to invite Clint for breakfast at his favorite hole-in-the-wall diner, and he hadn’t been awake enough to recognize a trap and say no.  He was halfway through his deluxe lumberjack breakfast when Natasha cleared her throat pointedly.

 

“Wha’?” he said, around a mouthful of waffles.  She wrinkled her nose.

 

“About that favor you owe me.”

 

Clint groaned.  “You didn’t even  _ do _ anything,” he whined.

 

“I was  _ going _ to,” she pointed out.  “It’s not my fault you agreed before you had a backup plan, Barton.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Clint went back to his waffles.  “Alright, what’s the favor?”

 

“Well, since you’re doing that thing you know I don’t approve of-”

 

“Get off my case about it already.  It pays the bills, everyone knows what they’re getting into.  It’s not like I’m selling literal ass on Craigslist-  _ not _ that there would be anything wrong with that,” he added.  “I’m just selling my services as a temporary boyfriend.”

 

Clint advertised himself as a ‘semi-acceptable to totally inappropriate boyfriend for all your family holiday, family dinner, corporate Christmas party, and other fake-dating needs’.  It was surprisingly lucrative, especially around Thanksgiving and Christmas, and he was very clear with his ‘dates’ exactly what he was and wasn’t willing to do, and anything physical beyond some hand-holding or maybe a light peck on the mouth was completely off the table. 

 

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Anyway,” she said, “it happens that I have a friend in need of your less-than-savory services.”

 

“You have friends?” Clint asked.

 

She kicked him, hard, under the table.  “I’m about to have one  _ less _ friend, if you don’t shut up.”

 

He held his hands up in the universal surrender gesture.  “Tell me about the friend.”

 

“James,” she said.  “His name is James. He’s a vet, got back from his last tour about six months ago.  His mom is… shall we say persistent that he should ‘put himself out there’ more and she’s convinced he’s lonely.  They’re having a family dinner, he wants to bring a date and prove he’s a functional human being or whatever.”

 

“Okay,” Clint shrugged, dragging bacon through the syrup on his plate.  “Just tell me when.”

 

*

 

_ When _ happened to fall on Clint’s birthday - or actually, the evening  _ before _ his birthday, which was fine.  Clint hadn’t celebrated in years and years, and even when he’d been a kid, it hadn’t really been all that happy of a memory.  Even a terrible dinner with a crazy family couldn’t top his worst birthday memories, and at least there’d be food. 

 

Natasha had given him James’ number at breakfast last week, when she’d sprung the favor on him, and Clint had shot off a text almost as soon as they’d parted, though it had taken a few hours for James to respond.  They’d agreed to meet at a coffee shop near his parents’ place in Brooklyn, about an hour before dinner, which was fine with Clint. It would be good to get to know each other a  _ little _ before Clint blundered into whatever fucked up family-dynamics he was signing up for.  

 

_ Here _ , Clint texted, as he pulled the door to the coffee shop open and ducked into the warmth.  He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of roasted coffee beans that felt like balm to his soul.

 

Clint had an unhealthy but deep abiding love for coffee in all its forms. 

 

**_5 min_ ** **,** he got back, and Clint headed to the counter to order the largest black drip they had.  He’d just settled into a back corner booth when the bell above the door rang and the most beautiful man Clint had laid eyes on in a  _ long _ while walked through the door.  He had dark hair, hiding tucked under a baseball cap but curling slightly at the ends, just below a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and dark with the exact right amount of stubble.  Full lips, piercing grey eyes, and those  _ cheekbones _ .

 

Clint let his eyes trail down, past the pretty face, to the broad shoulders and-

 

Oh.

 

The guy’s left sleeve was pinned up high under his shoulder.

 

Clint averted his eyes, just for a second, but then figured, what the hell.  The guy was pretty, missing arm or no, and when Clint continued his perusal, he upgraded ‘pretty’ to ‘hot as  _ fuck _ ’ because damn, those  _ thighs _ .  

 

If he hadn’t been here to meet someone, Clint would have probably tried to ask the guy out.

 

He’d have failed spectacularly, but he’d have tried. 

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

 

**_Whr r u?_ **

 

Hottie in the Hat had his phone in his hand and Clint got a sinking sensation in his gut.

 

_ Back booth in the corner.  I’m the tall blonde dude with the bandaid on his nose. _

 

Pretty Face shoved his phone into the front pocket of his jeans - and frankly, Clint was impressed he was able to squeeze it in there - and scanned the room, quickly settling on Clint.  He walked over-

 

No.

 

He  _ strode _ across the room, propelled by those goddamn thighs like he was on a mission to murder someone and Clint-

 

Clint was going to murder Natasha.

 

Clint was going to  _ eviscerate _ Natasha. 

 

He had a type - Clint knew he had a type, Natasha knew he had a type, and beautiful but deadly was an excellent summation of that type.  And holy shit did James ever fit that type.

 

James slid into the booth across from Clint, his shoulders tight with tension and a scowl on his face.

 

Goddamn, even his  _ scowl _ was pretty.

 

_ Fuck _ Natasha.

 

“You must be James,” Clint said, offering his hand.  “I’m Clint.”

 

James grimaced.  “Bucky,” he said, not taking Clint’s hand.  “If we’re gonna do this, you hafta call me Bucky.  Only Natalia and my ma call me James, and Ma only calls me that when she’s pissed as hell.”

 

Clint wrapped his awkwardly dangling hand back around his coffee cup.  “Okay, Bucky. I’m Clint. What is it, exactly, we’re doin’?”

 

James-  _ Bucky _ \- looked deeply uncomfortable.  “Uh, Natalia said you, basically, like do fake dating? Like dinners and parties and shit?”

 

“A-yup,” Clint said, slurping loudly at his coffee.  “It’s kinda my thing. Give back to the community, earn some cash on the side, you know.  Perfectly normal holiday stuff.”

 

Bucky snorted something that resembled a laugh. He reached up and took the cap off, setting it aside, and ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous gesture Clint could spot from a mile off.  “I got no idea what I’m doin’,” he admitted, staring at the formica tabletop. 

 

Clint took pity on him.  “That’s fine,” he reassured, “I do this a lot.  Tell me what you want from me, and I’ll do my best to deliver.”

 

That got him a quizzical look.

 

“So I can do anything from loveable but slightly disreputable boyfriend your family  _ might _ like, to completely unacceptable will  _ absolutely _ offend your Aunt Ethel.  I’ve got enough manners and enough bad habits for either.  Depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows had risen higher and higher the longer Clint’s explanation went on.  “Wow,” he said, obviously surprised. “That’s- you really do this a lot, huh?”

 

Clint laughed and shrugged.  “Helps pay the bills. So, what’re you lookin’ for?  Good boyfriend or bad boyfriend?”

 

“Good,” Bucky decided, after a second.  “I just want my ma off my case, you know? She worries ever since this,” he gestured at his missing left arm.  “And they keep tryin’ to set me up with ‘nice boys’. I was… different, before I deployed.”

 

“Yeah,” Clint said, sympathetic, “I bet.  Well, I dunno about being a nice boy, but I can use my company manners and pretend to be lovestruck for a few hours.  What kind of family situation am I walking into?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Clint shrugged.  “People got weird family dynamics, you know? Sometimes there’s the homophobic dad or the creepy uncle or the mom who drinks too much and asks how gay sex works.”

 

Bucky looked utterly horrified.  “Oh my god, that happens?”

 

It had been a memorable evening.  Clint gave a half-hearted grin and a shrug.  “Like I said, weird. Just like to know what I’m gettin’ myself into.”

 

“Nothin’- nothin’ like  _ that _ ,” Bucky said, his eyebrows still somewhere near his hairline.  “My parents have been married forever and I got three sisters - Becca’s my twin, and Hannah and Abigail are younger than us.  Abby’s the youngest. They’re nosy and overbearing, but they’re okay I guess. Not-” he made a vague gesture towards Clint- “not like that.”

 

Clint snorted.  “Good. Weird families are tiring.”  He checked his watch. “Okay we have about half an hour before we have to leave, so we’re gonna have a boyfriends crash course, if that’s cool with you.”

 

“What’s that mean?” Bucky looked cagey. 

 

Rolling his eyes, Clint elaborated.  “You gotta know some stuff about me, I gotta know some stuff about you, or you’ll never pull this off.  People who’ve been dating know stuff about each other, you know? Like whether or not they like coffee and if they eat pineapple on pizza and what they do for work.  Basic stuff your family is gonna ask.”

 

“Oh.  Yeah, that make sense. Um.  I should probably tell you about my arm.”

 

Clint pressed his lips together.  “How long did you tell your family we’ve been dating?”

 

“Uh, I didn’t?” Bucky said.  “I just told them I was bringing a date to dinner.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me about your arm,” Clint said, gently matter-of-fact.  “Do you tell everyone right away what happened to you?”

 

“No.”  Bucky didn’t elaborate.

 

“Okay, then no reason for them to assume I know the details.  Nat told me you were a vet - I assume it’s related, and we can leave it with that, unless you just really want me to know.”  Bucky shook his head, picking at the table top. “Kay. Well, on that note, I’m deaf.”

 

Bucky glanced up from the tabletop in surprise, and Clint turned his head to point out the hearing aids hooked behind his ears.  “I don’t really like to talk about it either, but I’ve been deaf most of my life. Now you know something about me. I like pineapple on my pizza, which I’m aware you native Brooklynites think is sacrilege, and I will drink coffee at all hours of the day or night.  I teach archery at the YMCA in Bed-Stuy, and I shuffle between a barista gig at Anchor and a night-security thing at one of Stark Industries’ storage facilities off Atlantic.” Clint took another sip of coffee. “Now tell me about you.”

 

“I, uh,”  Bucky swallowed.  “I got back to the States about six months ago.  I spent a long time at Walter Reed before I came home.  Pineapple on pizza is disgusting, I don’t mind coffee but I’d rather have hot chocolate, and I have a dog named Bacon.”

 

Clint laughed.

 

“I’m kinda- not working? Right now,” Bucky continued, sheepishly, as though Clint was gonna judge him or something. “And I used to be better at this.”

 

“Better at what?” Clint asked, brow furrowed.

 

“Talkin’ to people or whatever,” Bucky muttered.

 

“Doin’ fine to me,” Clint said, shrugging again.  “How long have we been dating?”

 

“Three months?” Bucky guessed, obviously unsure.

 

“Nah,” Clint said, “we’ll never pull that off.  Three weeks, maybe. And we met at a coffee shop - that’s true so it’s easy to remember.”  He hummed thoughtfully, trying to think of anything else he thought they could reasonably cover in the next few minutes.  “Is dinner a special occasion, or just a regular family dinner?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You know, like a big family announcement or anything?”

 

“Oh.  No, it’s just- well, it’s _ Rosh Chodesh Sh'vat _ , but that’s like- we aren’t observant enough for that to be anything other than my mom making up a reason to have everyone over for dinner.”

 

“It’s what now?” Clint said.

 

“We’re Jewish,” Bucky explained.  “It’s just- it’s the beginning of the month on the Jewish calendar? It’s not even really a holiday, but like I said, any excuse.”

 

Clint felt his face scrunch up.  “Okay I have to be honest, I don’t know  _ anything _ about being Jewish.  Literally nothing. So hopefully I don’t screw that up.”

 

“Nothing to screw up,” Bucky assured him.  “It’s just dinner, I swear.”

 

*

 

They were about a block from Bucky’s parent’s place when Clint had a thought.

 

“Hey,” he said, bumping his shoulder gently against Bucky’s right side.  “Gotta question.”

 

“Go for it,” Bucky said dryly.  “Are you gonna ask me how gay sex works?”

 

Clint cracked up.  “No, no, don’t do that, this is a real question and now you made it weird.”

 

Bucky turned his head and arched an eyebrow at Clint, who was still biting back laughter.  

 

“How much PDA are you comfortable with?” Clint asked.  “I got some hard limits, but you don’t seem the touchy-feely type anyway.”

 

“I… used to be,” Bucky admitted, “but not anymore.  Probably not much?”

 

Clint thought about it as they walked a few more steps.  “Hand holding? Light touching? Kisses? Tell me what I’m workin’ with.  Some families try to goad people into it, too, so I dunno if that’s gonna be a thing.”

 

Bucky stopped dead on the sidewalk with a groan.  “Oh fuck,” he said. “It’s- yeah, that’s- that’s probably gonna be a thing.  With my sisters. Fuck. Shit. I’m- god  _ damn _ it.”

 

Tugging him off of the sidewalk and under the awning of a nearby building, Clint tentatively put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders.  “Hey, relax. It’s gonna be fine. Even if it’s weird, you can probably just… play it off as part of how you’re different since you came back, you know.  I just wanna know what you’re okay with before we get there.”

 

“Don’t- don’t touch my arm,” Bucky said, shrugging his left shoulder.  “And I like holding hands, but only having one of ‘em makes it difficult.”

 

“Arm over the shoulder? Hand in your back pocket?” Clint suggested.

 

Bucky took a deep breath.  “Yeah, that’ll- that’s probably okay.”

 

“Kissing or no kissing?” Clint bit the bullet and asked the question.  “If you think your family is going to try and force the issue, you gotta make a decision about it, so I know how to play it off.  I’m not adverse to kissing,” he flicked his eyes over Bucky’s face, over where he’d sucked his bottom lip into his mouth in thought.  “I’m really not adverse to kissing,” he amended, because fuck it, “but if you’re not okay with it, then I’ll divert. I’m willing to take the heat for it - your family has to see you again, but I don’t gotta.  So if they’re pushy I can be the one to say no, if that’s what you want.”

 

Bucky’s gaze flicked between Clint’s eyes and his mouth, and his lower lip dragged out between his teeth, reddened from all the chewing he’d done on it, and now that they were talking about it, Clint really, really wanted to kiss him. 

 

He held completely still and let Bucky decide.

 

“No tongue,” Bucky said, finally.  “That’d be weird in front of my parents, and I don’t want my first kiss since I came back from Afghanistan to be a sloppy mess that embarrasses my ma.”

 

“Can’t have that,” Clint agreed.  “Wait, did you say first kiss since you came back?”

 

Bucky flushed, glanced off to the side.  “Not like I got guys linin’ up outside my door.”

 

“Well why the fuck not?” Clint demanded, wondering if he was crossing a line, and hardly caring if he was.

 

A roll of eyes and a wordless gesture towards his left side was all Bucky gave him in response.

 

“Okay, new plan!” Clint announced.  Bucky looked up at him in confusion.  “Kissing now, no awkwardness later, capisce?”

 

The little furrow was back between Bucky’s brows, and it made Clint want to smooth it out with his thumb.  “I don’t want pity kisses,” he said, sounding unsure and on the verge of pissed off.

 

“Pal, believe me, it’s not pity.  Have you seen yourself?” Clint reached up, slowly, telegraphing the movement, and cupped his hand against Bucky’s stubbled jaw, ran his thumb along the edge of Bucky’s mouth.  “You’re very kissable,” he added, and leaned in just as slowly, watching Bucky’s face.

 

Bucky held his ground, his eyes darting between Clint’s eyes and his mouth.  He gave the smallest, tiniest nod, and Clint pressed their mouths together, let his eyes drift shut and his free hand slide around Bucky’s waist.

 

He kept it chaste, just like Bucky’d asked, with no tongue and only the soft movements of their lips together, until Bucky relaxed under his grip and swayed closer, fisting his hand in the back of Clint’s shirt.  Clint dragged his teeth along the edge of that full bottom lip and Bucky made a tiny noise that Clint wanted to hear again, and again, and again. He eased back slowly, pressing short, smacking kisses to Bucky’s mouth, and the corner of his lips, and that stubbled jaw, until he leaned back entirely to look at Bucky’s face.

 

Bucky was flushed, and it was a long moment before he blinked his eyes open, hazy and dilated and Clint felt a surge of lust and pride.

 

“Changed my mind,” Bucky said, hoarsely, and Clint let go like his hands were on fire, but Bucky gripped him tighter.  “About the tongue,” he clarified, and Clint grinned.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, resettling his hands on Bucky’s hips and pulling him in closer.

 

In answer, Bucky tilted his chin up, and Clint leaned down to kiss him again, with light, flicking teases of tongue that gradually evolved into deeper, unhurried making out that only broke up when someone on the street wolf-whistled at them, and Bucky jerked back, startled and breathing hard. 

 

Clint laughed.  He swooped in for one last peck.  “We’re gonna be late,” he pointed out, and Bucky gave a careless shrug.

 

Still, they left the awning behind, Clint’s right hand tucked into Bucky’s back right pocket.

 

After a few minutes, he plucked up his own courage.  “I changed my mind too,” he said, as casual as he could manage, which wasn’t very casual at all.

 

“Oh?” Bucky said, cautiously.

 

“About the fake dating,” Clint continued.  “I was kinda hoping you might wanna make it real dating?  Maybe after dinner with your family, we could do dinner without your family?”

 

“Yeah?” Bucky said, turning to look at him, something Clint couldn’t quite put a finger on in his expression.  Clint nodded. “Yeah, that- that sounds good. Great.”

 

The euphoria of Bucky’s yes carried him all the way to the front door of a well-loved brownstone, where Bucky knocked and a flurry of voices answered, and a flurry of nerves sank into his stomach.

 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky murmured, as dogs barked and people shrieked and  _ life _ sounded behind the battered wood. 

 

“Never met anyone’s parents  _ for real _ ,” Clint answered, surprising himself.

 

“You’ll do great,” Bucky answered, smiling.  

 

All at once the door was flung open, and a short woman with wildly curly brown hair and Bucky’s same steel grey eyes answered with a smile.  “Bucky!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and nearly tangling herself in Clint in the process.

 

“Hey, Ma,” Bucky said, gently extracting himself.  “I brought someone for you to meet. This is Clint, my boyfriend.”

 

-o-

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Many many many thanks to ClaraxBarton for the beta and hand-holding, as always.


End file.
